


When It Dawns

by Ira_Dunfort



Series: At Odds [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Attempt at Humor, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Other, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 16:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20951768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ira_Dunfort/pseuds/Ira_Dunfort
Summary: The one in which Gabriel and Beelzebub talk trash.It's rather sweet.





	When It Dawns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eshnoazot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshnoazot/gifts).

> This is probably fluffier than usual. I do not feel sorry. At all. Just worried. But after a long, long talk with dear Eshnoazot, who I shall gift this part to, I had to write certain things out of my system. 
> 
> Be warned, it's positively _mushy_. 
> 
> Enjoy.

As it turned out, Gabriel and Beelzebub hadn't left the day before. The owners of the cottage had retreated to their bedroom, waving at the couple who stepped out into the garden. To, what they had thought, return Down Below and Up Above. 

Their assumption had obviously been wrong. Both were still here, clad in the same clothes. The odd couple were sleeping in a free-standing hammock on the terrace, a thick blanket wrapped around the two of them.

"They are quite adorable like this, don't you think?" Aziraphale said with a small sigh, taking in the picture of Beelzebub peacefully bedded on Gabriel's broad chest, face soft and content. The archangel had wrapped an arm around them, his now stubbly chin resting in the messy black hair of the demon.

"No, they are _pests_." Crowley said, but Aziraphale still saw the small twitch of a smile in the corners of his lips.

"I didn't know either of them slept." The angel mused, watching his husband gather jam and rolls and plates and cutlery. Fresh butter from the fridge, caviar and cheese and ham. 

"They're probably too busy for that." Crowley said, filling his mug with steaming coffee and taking a big gulp. "Or _buzzy_, in Beelzebubs case."

Aziraphale chuckled into his hot cocoa he had been handed the moment he stepped into the kitchen earlier. He turned back to the living room window, peeking at their guests. "Imagine being able to fall asleep in the arms of your enemy."

"Why imagine?" Crowley hugged his angel from behind, kissing his neck. "I do that every night."

"We were only enemies on paper, love." Aziraphale reached back and patted the demon's hair. "Those two raised armies of millions against each other."

"Shakespeare would have had a blast with their story." He raised his mug once more.

Aziraphale nodded in agreement. Then, with a small wiggle to pep himself up, he added. "We might need a guest room."

Crowley flung his hand in exasperation. "Absolutely not!"

"But the nights are getting colder." Aziraphale reasoned, "We can't just let them stay in the garden."

"Yes, we can. Those wankers can stay home." Crowley sneered. 

"I don't think they have one." The angel contemplated, keeping his lips close to his mug. 

"What?" The demon blinked at his husband several times in confusion. 

"They don't have the, how to put it, the luxury of permanent and private Earth residency." Aziraphale explained. "They are bound to bureaucracy, to their desks, when they return to Heaven and Hell. They only have these few hours each time. They feel safe here. They _are_ safe here."

Crowley didn't argue any further, forehead creased and jaw set as he grumbled. 

"Home is where your heart is." Aziraphale said in a quiet voice. 

They fall into silence for a moment, just watching their former superiors _cuddling_. Crowley refilled his coffee and handed the mug to Aziraphale who noiselessly opened the glass door to their terrace for him. The demon picked up the breakfast tray, tiptoed outside and set the tray down with care, not a single piece of cutlery rattling, no glass pinging against another. 

Then, he rolled up the sleeves of his black silk dressing gown, rubbed his hands together in mischievous delight. Then clapped them. Hard. 

"Oi! You little shits, wakey wakey!" He shouted at his overstaying guests. 

What he did not expect were the prince's wings to manifest with a crack of displaced air, sending the blanket flying. The additional weight lead to both toppling out of the hammock.

"Crowley?" Beelzebub groaned, wings flapping nervously as they oriented themselves. 

"Who else, your menace-y. I live here." He performed a mock-bow, all too pleased with himself. 

"Good morning, would you like some breakfast?" Aziraphale asked with well-practised politeness.

"Sure." The prince yawned, arms and wings stretching over their head. One by one, their flies woke up and started to orbit their ruffled hair. 

Gabriel didn't answer, too occupied staring dumbstruck at Beelzebub's black wings, a hand of his almost touching one of their long primary feathers that seemed to shimmer orange and green at the same time, right before the Lord of Flies put them safely away in a different dimension. 

  


  


Gabriel went out for a morning jog. Sleeping, as it seemed, had left his limbs even more restless than usual. 

Crowley, raking the fallen leaves in his garden, did not expect Beelzebub to stick around outside. They usually hogged the sofa or what has become _their_ armchair and waited more or less patiently for their archangel to return while watching questionable content on TV or reading a glossy magazine promoting all sorts of unhealthy lifestyles humans had talked themselves into. 

"How did you do it?" Beelzebub asked. 

For a moment, Crowley felt dread trickling down his spine. "Whatever do you mean?"

"The tattoo." 

Oh.

The prince tapped their right temple. "How did you get your snake aspect tucked away into that small tattoo." 

"It's not entirely gone, you know." He pulled off his sunglasses. "I can never get the eyes right. Your's look perfectly human. Murderous, but human." 

"Can you show me how?" Beelzebub's request, for once, didn't sound like an order, but a question.

Crowley pushed his glasses back into place. "Why?"

"I know how to get rid of the big symbiont." They gestured up to their hair, where their fly used to sit idly when they were on Earth. "But the small flies, I can control them, but I can't send them away." 

"Why would you even want to? You're the Lord of Flies." Crowley leaned his rake against the garden wall. 

"And you're the Serpent of Eden, but I don't see you smell with a forked tongue." Beelzebub cocked a brow at him.

"That doesn't answer my question." Crowley tugged his hands into his black jeans' pockets. "It's because of Gabriel, isn't it?"

The other demon didn't respond, just gave him a grim stare. 

"You know you don't have to change, that idiot loves you no matter the looks of your corporation. I don't know what he sees in you, though." Crowley huffed. 

"Whatever it is," Beelzebub began, "I still want to be _better_ than that."

  


  


When Gabriel came back, cheeks glowing from the endorphin chasing run, Crowley had ushered him to take a shower before he was allowed to sit down with the rest of them in the living room. His furniture was reserved for only one kind of angel sweat, thank you very much. 

It didn't take long, after only a few minutes the archangel was back, bringing with him a whiff of lavender soap. 

"Good Lord, do restrain yourself." Aziraphale tutted and rolled his eyes. 

"Please don't!" Beelzebub called out, taking in the sight of the tall angel. Gabriel only wore low hanging sweatpants, cotton white, with a little golden wing emblem on the side. He was towelling his still dripping hair, a few remaining droplets running down his chest. He _winked_ at Beelzebub. 

"I do find it funny that you moved to the South Downs." Gabriel addressed the married couple in the room. "Did you move here because of the pun?"

"Pun?" Crowley turned around on the sofa to look at Gabriel with raised eyebrows. 

"You have wings." The archangel pointed behind himself. "Feathers. Downs. Soft and warm and used for human beds, right?"

"Your sense of humour is appalling." Beelzebub grinned. "Give me a kiss with that dirty mouth." They tapped at their lips. Of course, he obeyed and leaned down beside their armchair, breath hitching as a hand roamed his abdomen. He let his fingertips feel the prickly stubble of Beelzebubs sidecuts. A fascinating sensation, almost as lovely as the tongue slipping between his welcoming lips. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat and lowered his book into his lap. "What are you demons watching?" 

"Rick and Morty." Crowley provided. "You wouldn't like it."

Aziraphale's turned his eyes to the television, following the proceedings of the crudely drawn figures for a long moment before wrinkling his nose in disgust. "That _must_ be one of yours."

"Actually…" Gabriel said with a winning smile, towel flung over his shoulder, sitting down in his usual armchair across Beelzebub.

"No!" The demon prince gasped, cheeks blushing. 

"One of mine, personally inspired." He carded one hand through his damp hair, looking proud. "It _is_ making a lot of young adults interested in philosophy and the idea of morals."

Beelzebub was grasping at their chest, their heart had started to _riot_. 

"It's crass and offensive at times, I'm aware of that, but it's doing a lot of good." He kept explaining, firmly believing every word coming across his lips. "Values of friendship and family are discussed. Respect for your elders. Humans love it."

"Stop _teasing_ me, dove." Beelzebub croaked.

Crowley groaned. "You're deluded. Both of you." 

  


  


Beelzebub was flipping through a fashion magazine when their eyes (and a fly) landed on an interview with a Scandinavian designer.

"Huh, I had a hand in this." They stated, recognising the face. 

"How remarkable." Aziraphale said absentmindedly, not even looking up from his Goethe, cocoa long cold on the coffee table. Crowley had his feet in his angel's lap, toes wiggling every now and then when he found another opening for comment section trolling on his phone.  


Gabriel, on the other hand, was all ears. He went over to the Prince of Hell and perched himself on their armrest. 

"I tempted a Norwegian fashion company to create designer clothes from garbage. It's an annual collection they've done for a few years now." They explained with a grin. 

"The article says it's recycling." Gabriel noted.

"_Garbage_." The demon insisted, looking up at the archangel. 

"Right." Gabriel said with a smile that told them he was not buying it. 

Beelzebub rolled their eyes and flipped the page, revealing the entire collection of this year. "The evening dress is quite cute."

"What now?" Crowley almost dropped his phone. 

"Let me get this straight." The archangel waved at the magazine. "They are fishing plastic right off the ocean, recycle it into synthetic fabrics, create beautiful clothes from it, raise awareness for the state of this planet's waters and the fact that clothes _can_ be recycled in general. Part of the revenue is forwarded to more cleanup projects."

"Yes." Beelzebub locked their eyes with the archangel. "And people are wearing _trash_." They crossed their arms in petulance.

"I love you."

It was the first time Gabriel had said it, after all those thousands of years, purple eyes soft and earnest, voice heavy with emotion, his bare chest heaving with a sigh.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a quick nudge, both leaving the couple alone. 

Beelzebub took a deep, unsteady breath, their arms had fallen into their lap, speechless. God Herself had taken him away from them, had made him forget them, but the way he was looking at them now, with wonder, it was still the same. But _how?_ They had inspired clothes made from plastic flotsam, while back then they, as Raphael, had forged shining stars and vast nebula with their own hands for him. 

But. Those _eyes_. There was no doubt in them. He loved them. 

Beelzebub gulped around a knot of painfully tangled feelings. 

_How to be loved?_

**Author's Note:**

> Just FYI, I have notes all the way up to chapter 15. I did get distracted writing the other series with them expecting a child, but fret not, this one here is still going to get updates are regularly as possible. There shall be more dumbassery. Holidays shall be experienced. More smooching. Eventual smut. With spicy bickering. 
> 
> You guys are very much welcome to join me on this bureaucratic trip. 
> 
> See ya’ll next time ♥


End file.
